𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 • 𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜

47 • Goodbyes

Steve sipped on his second cup of coffee, having downed the first on their way to the compound in the early hours of the morning.

Tony had something special planned for Millie, but wouldn't tell her what it was and apparently neither Steve or Bucky got to find out either. She was currently tucked away, somewhere within the billions of hallways, and Steve wasn't quite sure why, but it made him nervous.

Perhaps it was uncalled for, she was safe in the building and had been out without Steve plenty, but he never could stop the nagging in his brain that panicked and worried every second she wasn't with him. He suppressed it, of course, and didn't let it affect their day to day lives or become a hinderance on her because that was the last thing he wanted. He knew maybe it was even a little toxic, maybe by a modern man's standards, he was.

...Was he?

He hadn't really stopped thinking about how he reacted the night Millie was mad at him, how he flung his fist right into the dry wall. Neither of them brought it up, but it made Steve cringe.

Something about her terrified him, and he wasn't quite sure what it was. Perhaps it was that, based on the fact it had happened before, she could just disappear from his life at any moment.

She wanted the 40s life, a simple life. Was it wrong that he wanted to give that to her, even before knowing it was her wish? Was it too old fashioned?

The thoughts swirled constantly in Steve's head, making him subconsciously scull his coffee so fast it even gave him the jitters, despite the serum coursing through his veins.

Bucky flapped his paper, breaking Steve from his trance. He hadn't even realised he was scowling at the table, deep in thought. His anxiety had gone through the rood, thoughts spiralling from 'where is she?' to questioning his own morals and his idea of self.

Funny how the mind works.

"Shit, Steve!" Bucky almost choked out. "Guess who's in this weeks obituaries?"

"Who?" Steve grumbled, finishing the dregs of his coffee. His previous intrusive thoughts had completely soured his mood.

"Thomas Bates."

Steve's face shot up as he stared at Bucky with a fiery rage, heart beating harshly and skin turning reddish.

"As in...?"

"Yep, has to be him. The photo is him when he's old, but looks pretty familiar." Bucky held the paper up to Steve.

Thomas Bates, the very man who beat Steve to a pulp not once, but twice, and submitted Millie to the torturous night of being a pawn in his dogfight.

Steve never had truly forgiven him, he didn't think he ever should. The guy was a complete and utter ass, no, worse. He was downright cruel.

His eyes trailed the piece of text, landing on a line that specified how he served in the second world war, and Steve scoffed.

"You seem angry, Rogers?" Tony piped up from the end of the table.

"I am angry."

Tony leaned forward and skimmed the page and let out a sigh. "I get it, it must be hard seeing all these people you grew up with pass away."

Steve rolled his eyes and gripped his cup so tight he feared it may break. "I'm not angry because of that, Tony."

"You're not?"

"No, I'm angry that he's dead, because I wanted to punch him in the face." Steve scooted his chair out. "I wish I knew he was alive all these years, I assumed he would've died in war."